Capital Vices
by Witchy Pixie
Summary: Humans beings are not perfect, whatever Christopher Paolini may believe. When the fate of Alagaesia rests upon the shoulders of teenagers, triumph will surely be tempered with loss. The road to victory may be more full of twists than anyone imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Capital Vices

Chapter 1: Setting the Stage

"We have," said Nasuada, "a problem."

"How so, my lady?" asked Eragon.

Nasuada sighed. This had been a decision she'd agonized over. She'd picked the option she thought was the most practical. Actually she'd picked the option that would lose them the least lives, the one that gave them a slightly greater chance of winning, but those were depressing thoughts, and depression was a deadly poison to an army. She had decided correctly, and Jormundur had agreed with her decision, but Eragon wasn't going to like it, she knew.

"_And you're going to stop thinking now,_" she thought.

Nasuada gazed at Eragon for a moment before responding.

"_I hate telling him what to do. He's so much more powerful. I feel it every time I talk to him."_

Nasuada knew why she was the Lord (_Lady_) and he the vassal, but it still irked her that he could kill her, bend her to his will, _control _her if he wanted to, like an insane puppeteer with a little Nasuada-marionette.

"_With less energy than it takes to swat a fly, Nasuada, now stop it."_

Because Nasuada _hated _anyone having power of her, and even though he didn't use it, Eragon _could have_, which was what mattered.

"_And I like him; honestly, he's done so well with what he's been thrown into. But I can't think of that."_

"As I am sure you know, the dwarves are going to elect a new king."

"_Elect a king, there's a contradiction in terms there."_

"I'd like them to elect Orik. He is the only one who will support us. Also, the dwarven elections generally take a phenomenal amount of time. They've agreed to speed up, but they're _dwarves_."

Nasuada sighed.

"_Here goes_."

"I want you to go to Tronjheim. Use the power that you have to get Orik elected in as quick a manner as possible. You are a member of Durgrimist Ingetium, and as such, you have a right to be there and influence events. "

Nasuada studied Eragon's reaction intently. Learning to gauge people's emotions by the most minute gesture or facial expression was one of Nasuada's most finely tuned talents. Ever since she was young, sitting in her father's meetings, ignored, she had _watched_.

Eragon did not hide his emotions well. He never had, Nasuada thought. She envied him in a way, the ability to be open, honest, and uncalculating appealed to her.

"What about Murtagh and Thorn? No one but Saphira and I can equal them. I'd be leaving the Varden unprotected! I'd be—"

Eragon seemed at a loss for words.  
Nasuada forced herself not to think any more about his concerns.

"All of that is true. Still, we cannot win this war without the help of the dwarves. Even with the Urgals, Elves, and ourselves combined, we do not have nearly enough force to defeat Galbatorix's army, especially considering the painless soldiers."

"_I_—" Eragon began. He was obviously outraged, but she couldn't bend.

"Let me finish. What I am asking you to do is essential. The dwarves help is important in our quest to conquer Galbatorix. And I need a representative to secure it. Besides—"

"_And here it is."_

"You would go alone. Saphira would remain here. We could maintain a deception." At this, Eragon paused. He stared at her blankly, simmering beneath the surface of his outward exression.

"How would I get there?" asked Eragon.

"You would run. You've said the change you underwent in Ellesmera allows you the fleetness of an elf."

Eragon nodded. "That is true."

"_I'm sorry."_

"You'd have protection," said Nasuada.

"_The part you're going to like least, Eragon."_

"Nar Garzvog would run with you," she finished.

"The _Urgal?_" asked Eragon, recoiling.

"Yes, Eragon," said Nasuada, attempting a firm tone. "Nar Garzvog has promised to guard you in your journey."

"I'm not traveling with-with one of those—_beasts!_"

Nasuada glanced toward the outside of the tent, hoping that the Urgal members of the Nighthawks had not heard.

"Eragon, you are going to have to overcome your prejudice."

Eragon's eyes took on a cast that made Nasuada's stomach knot.

"They killed a village. They stacked up the dead, and at the very top was an infant with an arrow through its body. I will not run with one, Nasuada. Not with one of those swine."

Nasuada restrained herself from massaging her temples. _Do not show weakness. It is unbecoming._

"Eragon, you have two choices. You will go to Tronjheim, or you will take my place as leader of the Varden."

"_Almost wish he would, don't you? _Don't you?_ Tired, worn, lazy girl. _**Don't you?**_"_

Eragon spluttered. "That's—that's idiotic! Why would I become the leader of the Varden?"

Nasuada drew herself up. "Because, Eragon, you cannot be shown to have more power than I. You are already viewed as formidable. If you choices are shown to influence mine, I will lose all credibility. I cannot punish you for insubordination, because seeing you publicly punished would only hurt morale. Everyone would lose faith. Thus, you have two choices. Choose well, Shadeslayer, for I am a busy woman."

"You're being unreasonable!" shouted Eragon, slapping his hand against brisingr's pommel.

"_Child, such a child. How can such a child win a war for me? He's not much younger than I. A frightening thought."_

"Being reasonable doesn't win me wars, Eragon. Choose."

His eyes, of an animal backed into a corner, made her want to take is all back, so she blinked and gathered her courage from behind her eyelids.

When she opened them, she saw defeat.

"I will go," said Eragon.

And Nasuada had to consider whether or not it would show weakness to say, "thank you."

"_Don't let him think you owe him, Nasuada. You must never owe anyone."_

"Thank you, Shadeslayer. You may go."

The various casts of characters in Nasuada's head, led by her father, continued to scold her throughout the day.

It was the silence that was beginning to get to Roran. Silence as she cooked for him, silence at night when neither was asleep, silence as he rode off and knew she was watching.

She wouldn't talk about her father, she wouldn't talk about her time in Helgrind—she wouldn't _talk_.

"How are you?" Roran asked, over dinner. "And the baby?"

"Well enough," said Katrina. "Tired."

"I know. Is there anything I can…do for you?"

Katrina's lips pursed slightly, but her tone was friendly. "No, Roran. Just fight and end this war as fast as possible."

"I'm trying."

"_I'm trying. Trying to single-handedly protect everyone. Make my father proud, keep Katrina safe, make sure as few of my men die as possible._

_It's not enough though. Not enough for Nasuada, or Katrina, or even me. It could be if I could use magic, but fate gave it to Eragon. It's not fair—but there's no good in thinking like that."_

"Roran, you're brooding again. "

Her tone was accusatory. Roran was unreasonably annoyed.

"I suppose I am."

"You never let me in," Katrina said, softly, almost to herself. "Why do you never let me in? I can help."

Anger, battle-anger, shot through Roran. "No you _can't_. You can't kill Galbatorix, you can't get the faces of dead men out of my head, you can't even be civil to me when I _am _home!"

Katrina recoiled, as if he had struck her. Roran was even angrier. "You're not the only one who can talk," he said, defensively.

"But you don't," said Katrina. "Enough."

And she went to lie down, and Roran walked out of the tent.

"_I wish I had never had to leave Palancar Valley. I wish Saphira had never hatched for Eragon. I can never say such thoughts, but I wish._

**A/N I can't believe I'm posting this. I can't decide if it sucks or not.**

**Basically, it is a darker look at the cycle. The characters will **_**not **_**behave perfectly, and luck will **_**not **_**always be on their side. Hopefully, **_**Capital Vices **_**will be a more realistic look at Alagaesia and its inhabitants. It's also an attempt to better my own writing. The dialog will be less pretentiously medieval. **

_**Capital Vices **_**takes place after Eragon returned from Helgrind with Arya. This screws with the storyline where I am arrogant enough to see fit, and dialogue will be altered because fanfiction plagiarizes enough as it is.**

**Concrit! My kingdom for concrit! Author's note is getting gregarious. I'll shut up. **

**E2189's edits are wonderful.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Capital Vices_

Chapter Two: Weakness

_She's not even pretty._

_Goddamn it, what the hell was I thinking?_

_I never think._

_Not one fucking word, Thorn. _

Murtagh sighed and squinted at the light, weighing the unpleasantness of the sun in his eyes against his desire never to move again.

Laziness won out.

_I don't think I've been this hungover in…oh, what, a week?_

Thorn's concern merely irritated him, and he withdrew as much form their connection as he could.

He wished she'd leave. He didn't know her name; he barely remembered the night they'd spent. And now, he was lying in bed next to another unremarkable woman of the court.

It was the same thing over and over: get drunk out of his mind, find one of the readily available women who wanted to move up in the ranks, and then fuck her and forget about it the next morning. Drown the hangover in tea and berate himself, ignore Thorn's half-hearted reproaches and repeat.

It wasn't even good sex.

Murtagh had ceased to care. All he wanted was something to distance himself slightly from reality.

Of course, he couldn't do such things every night. Most days, he had various duties to perform. Not to mention training. Which—come to think of it—

"Damn it!" Murtagh cursed aloud, stood up, watched the room spin, and found a few articles of clothing. He banged out the door, ignoring the woman he'd left, cursing anything and everything but himself. He was, after all, cursed enough as it was.

"Ahh…_ah!_"

Angela purposefully removed the bandages around Nasuada's arms. She pursed her lips.

"They're healing well enough, for the amount you move them. I've told you again and again, you need rest."

Nasuada cursed mentally. "I can't rest any more than I have."  
"Then they'll take ten times longer to heal, but you're in no immediate danger."

The herbalist bustled about, throwing out the old poultices and mixing new, while allowing Nasuada's arms to air.

"Angela. Who do you know of who could heal these magically?" asked Nasuada, suddenly.

"Eragon, Arya, Trianna…any elf or member of Du Vranga Gata," said Angela neutrally.

"Don't look at me like that," said Nasuad suddenly. "You've never felt—"

"I wasn't looking at you, in fact, I had my back to you," said Angela. "And you'd be surprised what I've felt in my years on this earth. But that is neither here nor there."

"Call Eragon for me," said Nasuada, through clenched teeth. "B y the gods, just call him."

"I'm not calling anyone," said Angela calmly. "You are the leader, if you desire him; you may send someone to fetch him."

"Damn it, Angela!" Nasuada's fists clenched. "Do it, I command you!"

"That'll only make them hurt worse," said the herbalist quietly, gesturing to Nasuada's white knuckles.

"One less worry," said Nasuada, in a small voice, to herself more than Angela. "One less. Is it too much to ask?"

"The question is not is it too much to ask, the question is, is it too much to receive?" said Angela.

"Do you speak in naught but riddles?" asked Nasuada, her voice rising. "Answer me plainly. Would you think less of me if I were to call for Eragon?"

"No," said Angela. "It is what you would do after you called him that might change my opinion of you, for better or for worse. But I, Lady Nasuada, am not the one to worry about."

"Who is, then?" asked Nasuada, defeated.

"You," said Angela, gently wrapping Nasuada's left arm in fresh bandages.

Nasuada said nothing. She let Angela finish ministering to her wounds, then nodded a dismissal.

She did not summon Eragon.

"_What would your father think_?" rattled around her head, all day.

_The human runs quickly, it seems. Not a human, though. He is something in-between, some kind of mix._

_It seems wrong. Unnatural. But we cannot choose what we want in this time. We are lucky enough to have the rider-human-elf._

_He is just a boy. Does anyone realize that he is just a boy. Does no one see it? Or do we all know but keep it a secret?_

_Things said are things believed. So of course I will say nothing._

_He hates me. I did him no wrong, but of course, it was my kind who hurt his. But revenge is something we cannot afford. Small revenges get in the way of the big revenge we are working towards._

_He hates me, not only because of the things he has seen but also because he has been taught to hate my horns and my face and everything about me that is not him. _

_He does not realize how fleet of foot we are; if he were not an elf, he would be far behind me. He does not realize our power, our art, anything about us. We are nothing to him._

_He will be the first to ask for a rest. Perhaps then he will see that there is some kind of equality between us. _

_He is so young. He is just a boy. By the gods, our savior is a boy. _

**I think I may be one of the only people to write from Nar Garzvog's point of view. **

**Murtagh and sex...why do they always appear together? Such an emo little boy. I think we've had enough of glorifying him as of late. **

**I'm having such a good time corrupting characters.**


End file.
